


Artefacts of history

by liliaeth



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Immortals Are Known, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, First Time, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth
Summary: They were National Treasures, Living Archives of history, kept protected, guarded, as symbols of their cultures. Only allowed to meet when a new one of their kind was found. At the introduction of Nile, nine hundred years after their first meeting, Yusuf and Nicolò finally find a chance to spend some time together.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 20
Kudos: 118
Collections: Secret Santa Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinesboi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesboi/gifts).



> This was written for the The Old Guard Discord Secret Santa.  
> So much thanks to sunshineandchemistry for betaing this for me.

His first thought was ‘another one’.

He shivered as he felt the girl’s pain. The slash in her throat, the way she looked at the man who had killed her in her last moments before she died. Her fear, her desperation as she realized what was happening, and then that terror growing worse as she took her next breath.

Nicolò let himself get called out of bed. It was part of structure, of being managed.

Even now, after nine centuries, part of him still felt like that young man who had foolishly believed he was setting out to free the holy land and protect pilgrims. He had heard stories of the ancient ones before, but they had been almost myths, living artefacts of human history. Not people.

Not like him, until he was. 

Getting out of bed at six, getting dressed by seven, eating at eight. His staff tutting at him for being late by even a few minutes. Being paraded in front of everyone who wanted to meet the Italian living archive till twelve, then dinner, then free time till five when it was another dinner, then meeting with dignitaries and whomever paid money to get to see him, and then time to head to bed. He had done the occasional small resistance against it all, but in the long run, it just usually wasn’t worth the bother.

That was the worst part of it all: how people kept managing him. How his handlers treated his occasional bouts of moodiness as those of an animal that needed to be treated with care and soft gloves; how he was pushed into whatever his current ‘owner’ felt necessary.

Oh, they didn’t call it that. 

Technically he was a national treasure to be gawked at and respected. As much a monument of his people as the Colosseum; a talking cathedral for people to gawk at and admire butwith no more opinions than a statue. A living memory of not just his nation, but his culture’s heritage. But how could he be any of that, if he was constantly stuck in rooms, able to look at the changes in society from a distance and never truly be a part of it? 

He turned on television. He still remembered all the discussions there had been when television first became widely accessible. Whether he should be allowed access to it, whether it might corrupt him, or hurt him. How he could be damaged by knowledge from across the world. 

He still didn’t watch it much. He had had a few years of being utterly captivated by it as a window into the wider world. But he had soon realized that it was just another window in his cage, reminding him of what he had never have.

He wondered if the new girl had realized it yet: that she had lost her freedom for all of eternity. The news was all over it. A new Immortal only two centuries after the last one. Repeated discussions on the reason for that, on why the time between new Immortals seemed to be decreasing. Some scientists figured if it was because the world was changing more and more quickly, that the world’s population was ever expanding.

The girl’s name was Nile Freeman, and Nicolò’s heart went out to the child. 

Paolo, one of his younger handlers, entered the room, and Nicolò shivered, letting the news play in the background. He ignored the way the man sneered at him, muttering something beneath his breath. Nicolò tried to remember the dream, to cling to the images he had received from her. 

“She’s just a child.” He whispered. Paolo instantly realized whom he was talking about.

“The Americans are over-the-top excited over it. But then they always are. She’s already being transferred over to DC.”

“She’s so scared.”

The man stared at him in shock. “Oh, the dreams, I … I heard about those.”

Yes, the dreams, the ones that they had of of one another until they met. It meant that soon he would be taken to the US to meet her. They all would be. They would do anything to end the dreams so they wouldn’t have access to one another’s memories or thoughts. It was part of a treaty that the people of the world had agreed upon thousands of years before he was even born. Andromache, the living archive of humanity, had insisted upon it so she could at least get to meet those who were like her. She wouldn’t stay and let her followers keep her if she could not at least meet the other children of eternity. 

Nicolò remembered when he had been brought before her. It had been him and… the other one. The Saracen. Andromache had been so stunned that there had been two of them at the same time.

It had never happened before. 

The church had seen it as evidence of how different their people were. And perhaps a sign of God, that maybe— just maybe— there were ways other than death to handle their disputes.

It was only the second time that Nicolò had met the man, the first time being when they killed one another. They hadn’t been allowed to be alone in a room ever since out of fear they would try to repeat the experience, that they would still be enemies. 

Nicolò had been told the man’s name was Yusuf ibn Ibraham ibn Mohammed al-Kaysani called Al Tayib, that he had been a merchant out to defend his city. Nicolò had always been curious about him, wondering what the man thought of him. If the other had ever even been curious about him. He remembered that war where they had both died.

It had been a horror in the truest sense of the word. The church, the kings, they all wanted him to pretend it had been a justified war. But how could the murder of innocents, especially that of children, ever be holy or seen as right?

Nicolò had gotten one of his handlers to get him lessons in Arabic. Said he was just interested. He never told them that he wanted to learn so he could actually talk to Yusuf if they ever got another chance to meet. They never had another chance, though. Their handlers and the people surrounding them were too worried to ever let them spend any time together. 

Learning was one of the few things he was allowed to do. Learning languages, science, and math kept his mind busy while he was stuck in the boredom of his routine. He had become a voracious reader, just so he could let his mind wander in worlds he was barely allowed to set a foot into.

Paolo indicated to Nicolò that he had decided he looked presentable, and Nicolò stared at himself in the mirror. Current fashion was almost minimal in nature. Nicolò could appreciate that. It was better than all the buckles and cords of previous eras. He had had a haircut last week, but his hair was still long enough to tie it together. 

It would take about a week before a meeting would be arranged. He almost wished it could be longer, so he would have more of a chance to get to know the girl in his dreams before they ended. 

He wished he had had that chance with Yusuf, but of all the Immortals, Yusuf was the only one he had never dreamed of.

  
  


***********   
  


  
  


Yusuf stared out the window, for a moment ignoring the painting he had made of the new girl. She looked so innocent for a woman who hadbeen a soldier. A part of American imperialism. 

He wondered at times if he even belonged in their number.

The ancient Amazon, the Vietnamese archer, the Alexandrian soldier, the Crusader, the French deserter, the American marine and well.. him.

He knew there was more to them than that, there had to be. He wondered what they saw when they thought of him. He adjusted his robes and stepped into his slippers. 

His rooms were beautiful just like they always were. It was almost mind numbing. He heard the call for prayer and knelt down at his prayer mat, the cats joining him in it. Muezza and Amira let themselves fall over on their backs, while Zahra played among his paints. He wasn’t in a mood to stop her. 

His handler entered the room. She was an older woman who had been with him since she was a young girl. They always made sure to send young women to manage him. Yusuf suspected it was because he had only ever shown interest in men, and that was something they would prefer to keep out of the eyes of the public.

It wasn’t that his handlers would begrudge him a partner, it just … would give the wrong impression. Or so he had been told. He was supposed to be an example to his people. Not just of their history, but also their ethics and their faith. Someone to look up to and admire.

And though he had fallen in holy war, and would no longer need to follow the laws as he was past death… there were people who wouldlook up to him, and follow him in sin.

It was just… how deep a sin could it be to loved and to find love?

He checked the news reports at Al Jazeera on his tablet that were talking of the new Immortal, the new living archive. She was only 27, a corporal in the American marine force. A girl just starting out her life, and now she was a symbol for her nation. Her people. Her life would never be normal again.

There was some talk of how certain people were claiming she had to be a fake, how the color of her skin was somehow becoming politicized. It reminded Yusuf of how people had made an issue out of him being Shia when he had first been found.

If you represented one group, how could you represent all of them? He had soon learned not to talk about it at all.

He was too old to believe that Allah would care about minor differences like that, so instead he tried to be the elder of his people. He focused on art, on knowledge, on learning languages, on memorizing the Qur’an, and being a symbol. On caring for his cats and enjoying their presence for as long as they were with him. Even if just like humans their lives were far too short, and he wished, he longed almost, that he could spend more time with others like him.

  
  
  


*********   
  


Nile was putting on her dress blues. It wasn’t the kind she had been given for official occasions when she first enlisted. They had called it an Evening Dress uniform, the kind that would normally only be worn by officers.As a corporal she had a long way to go before she would have the rank for it, if ever.

Now though, now she was supposed to be a symbol of the US armed forces. Of the US as a whole. And that massively changed things.

She had known about Immortals, of course. Every kid heard about them. There were movies about all of them. Especially about Andromache the Scythian, the most ancient of them. A real life Amazon who had once upon a time been worshipped as a goddess. 

But Immortals were like living monuments, more so even than your average celebrity who you might still run into at a local grocery if you got lucky. With the Immortals, at best you got to catch a glimpse of one from a distance. It was only the rich and powerful that were allowed actual meetings with one of them.

She remembered looking up to Lykon as a girl, seeing his face in the papers as he toured the site of some disaster, bringing attention to good causes, trying to help reforest the Sahara. 

Her father had used the man as a role model for her, to show her what kind of warrior she could be if she put her mind to it. She wondered if he had ever imagined her like this. As one of ‘them’.

Her mother had been waiting as she had arrived on airforce one, travelling with the president who had come to pick her up himself, wanting to be first to actually get to meet the first ever American immortal. She had been terrified, confused, not yet fully able to grasp what had happened to her. Mom had pulled her in her arms, and Nile had cried for the first time since she died.

Jay and Dizzy had been there as well, with Jay assigned as her bodyguard and temporary handler until someone more suitable was found. Nile had begged them for it, wanting there to be at least one familiar person next to her as her entire life was turned over into something strange and alien.

Dizzy, though. Dizzy had been scared to even talk to her. Not until Jay had started ragging on Nile, joking about how she had hit the jackpot, and hit gold on a lifetime of getting pampered and looked after forever.

Anything to keep from having to think of how it had felt to have her throat slit by a man whose life she had been trying to save. Of how conflicted she had felt about any part of what they had been doing. 

She had gone in to help people, and none of what they had done had seemed to help anyone at all.

And now she was immortal. She would have an eternity to live with her guilt, and it seemed more of a curse than any kind of blessing.

She tried to go to sleep, but the dreams started again, all of them in her head at once. She had heard of the dreams: that the Immortals always knew when a new one joined their number, that immortality connected them in some way. It was why when a new Immortal was found all the other Immortals would be brought to the new one’s location. So they could meet and connect before they all returned home. And the dreams could stop.

It scared her that soon she would have to meet them and they would all see just how little she belonged with any of them. She wasn’t wise, she wasn’t special. She was just Nile, a soldier, a Chicago girl. And she got it, she was new, she still had a lot to learn. But compared to any of the others, what did she really have to offer?


	2. Chapter 2

Nicolò got off the plane. He stared back at the thing. It was the first time he had been in one. It was too dangerous for him to travel this far when there was no real reason for it. People had been staring at him all through the trip, especially the press.

When he asked about weird feeling in his ears as the plane lifted in the air, Alfredo, one of his senior handlers, had tried to explain that it had to do with air pressure. A few of the younger ones were chuckling over his confusion. As if he should just know what it was. All he knew was that it felt weird, unlike anything he had experienced in his life. 

He had tried to read during the flight, but he had been too distracted by the image outside the windows. To fly above the clouds, to see for himself what it was like to look down on them, instead of up. It was awe inspiring. 

The plane had landed with just a soft thud, and nobody but him had seemed even the slightest bit stunned by how quickly they had gotten to an entirely different continent in less than a day of travel. His handler told him to sleep, that it would pass quicker that way. As if he wanted to miss even a single second of this miracle of modern invention.

There were armed cars waiting for them as he got off the stairs. He stared up at the sky once more, smelling the air in the new world, this new land where he had never set foot. The Italian ambassador was awaiting him, ready to welcome him. The man tried to hide it, but Nicolò could see that the guy was getting impatient. 

Nicolò wanted to pretend he cared. But this was the first trip longer than a day that he had been allowed to make since World War II. And being kidnapped by the resistance to keep him out of fascist hands had hardly been the kind of fun trip any person might enjoy.

Oddly enough, his ‘kidnappers’ had been surprised when he helped them keep Mussolini’s people from getting him back. Not that he was supposed to take risks like that. But Nicolò had read enough about Mussolini and his alliance with Hitler to know he wanted nothing to do with the man or his ‘ideals’. Hitler reminded him far too much of the leaders of the Crusades, and Nicolò had had enough of that kind of bigotry before he had passed his first century. The resistance had been good people, men and women who loved their country. And he had been more than willing to help them out wherever he was allowed to do so.

So could his handlers really blame him now for wanting to enjoy this chance to see more of the world than just the few places he was allowed to visit? 

Traffic was bad, but it seemed almost civilized compared to what Nicolò had seen of traffic in Rome. Busy, but there seemed to be less cutting and far less screaming at other cars who made the mistake of going too fast or too slow, less yelling at people on foot for daring to cross the street or walking too close to the side of the pavement. It felt almost peaceful, even as their surroundings passed them by far faster than they ever would have if he had been in a carriage, or on top of a horse.

They took Nicolò to the hotel where he would be allowed to rest for the night before he would get to meet the new one tomorrow. He had been trying to get his handler to allow him to see some of the tourist attractions before they returned to Italy. Alfredo had promised Nicolò he would try, which probably meant no. Nicolò couldn’t see the problem. With all the guards, why couldn’t he go see some statues, a museum, maybe even some of nature, spend some minutes in a forest again? It was not that much to ask, was it? How could he witness history if he was never allowed to be part of the world outside of the experiences of the elite?

  
  


*****

  
  


Yusuf missed his cats. He knew they would be taken care of while he was gone, but it had been a long time since he hadn’t had at least one cat in the room with him. Meriam had arranged for them to go visit a cat café that evening, but it wouldn’t be the same. He drank his tea; Meriam had brought his set that he served as he played with some of the kittens around him. 

He knew the café was using the free advertising, that any of the cats he got close to would have a far higher chance of getting adopted after, so he made sure to spend more attention on some of the older cats as well. Especially the one with only three paws. It had been fostered after being found on the street, one of its paws so diseased that it had to be amputated for the cat’s own sake. The little one seemed unbothered by it, and the little tabby managed to end up on his shoulder with only a little bit of aid before his tea was even finished. “How hard do you think it would be to get this little one to Marrakech with us?”

“I will see what I can do, o Venerated One.” The way she said it in her Derja accent made the normally respectful words sound like a dig. It was what Yusuf liked most about her.

The servers were staring at them from behind the counter and Yusuf ordered some of their American cookies. The sign said they were supposed to be from a family recipe. 

The taste was different from what he was used to, not as sweet as baklava or Makroudh. But the texture and taste complemented one another. It tasted a bit like some sweets he had eaten back when he had been kept in Constantinople for a while. 

Yusuf pulled his robes straight and thanked their host for opening the café for their presence. The man seemed awed that Yusuf was even willing to talk to him. Yusuf offered if the man wanted a photograph. It seemed what a lot of people these days would like. The man quickly agreed. Babbling at one of the people behind the counter, almost throwing his phone at them in a hurry to get next to Yusuf. Yusuf’s guards, Ahmed and Idris, didn’t like it much. But Yusuf couldn’t see the harm in it. And they knew better than to fight him on it.

The hotel was a big, bland building.. The UN had rented the top five floors, leaving the penthouse as a meeting place for the Immortals once the new one arrived.

The girl felt so lost.

Yusuf sat down in his room, ignoring the hot tub in the middle of the living room. The Americans had gone all out, but all Yusuf cared about was the sight out of the windows as he looked over this strange American city. It looked so much more alive in reality than it did on television. He pulled out his sketchpad and sat down to draw it, maybe he would make a painting out of it later. 

The little tabby joined him half an hour later. The owner of the establishment had been more than honored that Yusuf had wanted her. 

“Her name is Tigger. But that can of course always be changed.”

“No, I like it. Come here, little Tigger.” The cat seemed hesitant, almost shy. Away from her home, her friends. He offered her peace, letting her scent him. Pleased when an hour later she was staring at him from under the couch. By the end of the evening, she joined him on the bed. 

He was the only part of the room that was even remotely familiar. It was more than he could have asked for.

  
  
  


******   
  


  
  


The room Nile was taken too was almost as big as her mother’s entire house. She was almost scared to sit down on the couch out of fear that she would damage something.

“Man, Nile, this is just… “

“Yeah.”

“What do you think, Dizzy, dibs on the hottub?” Dizzy just shook her head and sat down across from Nile.

“What do you think they are going to be like?”

Nile didn’t even have to ask who ‘they’ were. 

“I don’t know, this is just… I still feel like any moment now, I’m going to wake up, and I’ll be back on my bunk at camp, and all of this, as just a dream.”

“Same, sis, so much same.” Jay said.

“Hey, at least if it’s a dream, you imagined us with you.” Dizzy grinned.

Nile threw a pillow at her. 

The television was going on about national protests, claiming she was just an antifa plant. A fraud, trying to use the country’s desire for a symbol to put some imposter in place. As she touched her throat, Jay touched out to her, to comfort her. 

She dreamt of a cat that night. It only had three paws, but it was prowling up on a man with curly hair and a well-tended beard. The man was praying. She never quite got to see his face.

They didn’t come for her until well after breakfast. Nile and Jay were throwing food at one another when someone knocked on the door. Nile sat up and straightened her uniform while Dizzy went up to the door. Her new guard was waiting for her, ready to bring her up to the penthouse.

She followed them and stared into the room. There were two of them waiting for her already. Andromache and Quynh who were talking in some strange language. She thought it sounded like the Vietnamese spoken by the owner of the grocery store in her neighborhood.

The two ancients looked at her and smiled. Nile shivered, feeling like a bird thrown to a wolf and a cat. Both of them were eying her up, as if wondering if they should share her between them.

Andromache offered Nile her hand, a touch. 

“Don’t worry, little one. You’ll get used to it all soon enough. And by then, the routine will become mind numbingly boring.” Nile shivered at the exhaustion in the woman’s voice. This woman was ancient in a way that made her feel like an infant in comparison.

Quynh just smiled, said something Nile couldn’t understand before pulling her in a wordless hug.

Lykon was the third to arrive. He wasn’t at all what she expected. His jokes felt almost silly and playful, and it was hard to imagine him as older than her brother, let alone an ancient.

She was almost at ease by the time the next one arrived. 

The Italian’s voice was kind, even as his focus on her felt eerie. 

“Don’t scare off the girl, Nico. It’s rare enough for all of us to see one another as it is.”

“Of course, Andromache. I would not think to do so.” He spoke English with a heavy European accent, which was odd compared to how perfect Andromache’s American accent was. She sounded like she was from California, which was almost scary considering she had lived in Russia for the past fifty years.

Tension built up as the doors opened again and the last two men arrived together. The Frenchman was Sebastien Le Livre,ho, up until now had been the youngest of the Immortals. 

“A position I’m more than happy to finally be rid of,” he told her. 

The other man though didn’t even seem to notice Nile. Oh, he looked at her, and gave her a smile. But his eyes were caught on the Italian.

It was as if their handlers were trying to keep people between the two at all times.

“What’s that about?” Nile asked Jay when she had the chance.

“Don’t you know? They killed each other.”

Nile stared at the two of them in shock. They didn’t look like they were enemies.

“There was a movie about it on Netflix last year, don’t you remember? They killed each other, and then they both got up and kept on killing each other. People are still scared they’ll go off again if they get the chance.”

Nile had some vague memories of watching it with the others. But she’d been too busy on her phone to pay it much attention. 

Nile stared at the two. Nicolò seemed so hesitant she would almost consider him shy if he were anyone else. And Yusuf was so desperate to look at and talk with anyone else that it almost hid that his eyes never moved away from one person in the room.

The only person in the room that mattered. And it sure as hell wasn’t her.


	3. Chapter 3

Nicolò tried not to look at the other side of the room, shyly pulling in on himself. He filled with shame whenever he was in the same room with Yusuf. He knew that his handlers took it the wrong way. That they mistakenly thought he was still angry at Yusuf, when really, he wanted to beg the man for forgiveness for what he did to him, for the pain and suffering Nicolò had caused him and his people.

The problem was that all too soon they would be taken out of the room again, they would leave, his people and Yusuf’s would go to their separate sides of the hotel, and they once again wouldn’t see one another until yet another Immortal came into their powers.

On the surface, Yusuf looked calm and relaxed, but Nicolò had seen enough video footage of the other man to see the strain in the way he interacted with people. Nicolò wished they could leave even quicker, just so he wouldn’t have to force his presence on the man any longer than he absolutely had to.

He decided to head to the coffee bar, hoping beyond hope that the hotel’s version of espresso would be somewhat decent.

It was odd, once upon a time he had been happy to eat anything, long as it wasn’t… well. the one exception. But over years of being spoiled with the best of foods, and everything his keepers could give him to keep him ‘happy’, he realized he had become a snob. It was a feeling he definitely didn’t like to admit to.

It was part of why he liked to cook his own food whenever possible, just to remind himself what normal food tasted like. 

“Excuse me,”Nicolò quickly moved aside, letting the person next to him get to the coffee. He pulled in on himself when he realized it was Yusuf. Their handlers were already heading their way, but Nicolò tried to pull himself together, to get the words out.

But just as he was about to do so, a loud explosion rang through the room. He almost fell over, but Yusuf’s hands on him kept him from falling. The man pulled his hands back quickly. Nicolò felt like he had been shocked by lightning at the mere braze. 

The guards each took their own charge, pushing them to safety, pulling them to the basement of the hotel, a floor especially designed to keep guests safe in case of disasters. The panic surrounding them was almost solid.

Nicolò had never quite understood what people were so scared of. Whatever happened here wouldn’t kill him. It wouldn’t even permanently harm him. It was the guards and handlers that he was worried about. 

He looked at Nile, who was still in a soldier’s mindset, and who had to be pushed to safety along with the rest of them. It would take her a long time before she would get used to the fact that it was better to let their guards do their job. Safer. Because the longer they themselves lingered in the danger zone, the longer their guards would as well. It was their duty to let their protection detail do their job, so these men and women wouldn’t be put in danger for any longer than they had to be.

It was the hardest duty of them all.

  
  


****   
  


The chaos surrounding the bomb was the worst. Staff members, both those working for the hotel and those officials in charge of them were in a heightened state of suspense. People were screaming and running while the professionals tried to do their job and get them all to safety. Yusuf couldn’t help but worry about Tigger. What if the explosion had been in his rooms, what if the poor cat had gotten caught in a blast? He was supposed to look after the animal, not endanger it. 

“Meriam…” 

“I’ll call hotel security. She’ll be fine.”

He shivered, but let himself be pushed along to the safety bunker with the others.

They were pushed along to the basement, and as he sat down, he stared at the others. 

Nile, who seemed mostly unsure. Lykon, trying to lift her spirits by telling some joke that hadn’t been funny when Yusuf first heard it seven hundred years ago. Andromache, who looked like she itched to go after whomever was responsible with her fists, fighting to portray calm and dignity as the eldest. Quynh, sitting on her chair as if it were a throne, like the holy relic she so liked pretending to be. Sebastien, somehow already refusing to share a bottle of wine he had dragged with from upstairs. 

And Nicolò. 

Yusuf had never really known what to think of the man. He still remembered their final battle. After weeks of hate and anger, realizing they truly were immortal like the legendary ones. Reaching out his hand, as he understood that no matter what he did, it would not kill the man, as nothing the Afranji had done to him would have killed him.

He would never know if the Genoan would have taken his hand. Instead both their sides had called a truce. Allowing them both to bring their own Immortal to safety.

The truce had lasted a month. By the time it was over, both their reinforcements had arrived and an end of the war had been signed. They would share the city. In honor of the new Immortals. 

There had been crusades after, fights over the holy land, but on that day, as two men who had battled for a week, proving their immortality before all, the bloodshed had ended just long enough to make a difference. 

Both Christians and Muslims had seen it as a sign from God. 

Yusuf wondered how Nicolò saw it. Whether the man still held hate against him. 

Yusuf wasn’t sure what to think of the man. They had sat on opposing sides during the truce between Salah ad-Din and Richard Coeur de Lion, quietly listening as both sides made agreements to keep down the bloodshed. Representing God’s will for peace. But that had been centuries ago. 

Did the man even now still think of him as a soulless savage?

The Genoan’s PR department had shown images of Nicolò speaking out against racism. But how much of that was the man himself, and how much of it was his people knowing just what was and wasn’t acceptable in the modern world?

All he could think of was those savage blue eyes, staring at him, Yusuf’s blood on his face and knotted beard as well as on his tunic.

In the chaos after the explosion at the hotel, they ended up seated next to one another, staring at the other in shock, but neither of them considered speaking. 

What was there to say anyway, especially considering who knows what that else was happening outside?

  
  


******   
  


  
  


Nile had wanted to stay up in the room after the explosion, but it was made pretty clear almost immediately that that was not an option. So now she sat here in a bunker with the whole group of them, their handlers, their guards— everyone— surrounding them, waiting for the all clear.

It felt similarto the time she had spent during basic training. Weeks of boredom combined with moments of total terror.

Andromache managed to pull a pack of cards out from who knows where and asked who felt like playing a game. Nile figured she might as well agree, even if she didn’t have any money to bet. They soon decided to use snacks as tokens. Sebastien and Lykon quickly joined in as well , and so did Quynh and Jay.

Nile, of course, was losing badly.

She ended up staring around in defeat until she realized that Yusuf and Nicolò were sitting together on the side. Both of them so quiet that no one seemed to have even noticed they were near one another.

Nicolò said something to Yusuf, and the man seemed almost stunned before he offered his hand. Nicolò accepted it. They held on for far longer than what Nile thought would be normal for a handshake.. She didn’t understand what either of them was saying, since her Italian was pretty much nonexistent, and the closest thing she knew to Arabic were a ew words in Pashto. But both men seemed to know exactly what the other was saying, especially since all too soon they were laughing about something that finally dragged everyone else’s attention to the both of them.

Nile asked them if they wanted to join for a game before someone could separate the two. Both men agreed as Jay gave up her place. 

“So what was that about?” Sebastien asked. The man talked as a way to distract from the game, and he was good at it. Lykon relied on terrible jokes but it only made people want to beat him even more. Yusuf and Nicolò just shrugged, far too much in tune for two men who hadn’t spoken more than five words in nine hundred years.

“Nicolò decided to apologize.”

Sebastien spat out a mouthful of wine..

“It was nine hundred years late. But, it was needed.” Nicolò said, staring at his cards

“Apologized for what?” 

“For killing him, joining the Crusades, believing all the hate I was taught.”

There was a sadness invested in Nicolò’s voice. 

“Well, at least you killing me helped end the war. I can’t hold that against you.” Yusuf said. “That, and I killed you right back.”

There was some friendly banter between the two of them involving just who killed whom most often, letting go of the tension between them that had been building for hundreds of years. Nicolò seemed to go along with Yusuf’s mood, trying for the same tone. But it was clear that he was still filled with regret. 

Yusuf seemed to understand but wouldn’t let him wallow in it, winking at him before laying out his cards and forcing all of the players to hand over their snacks to him.

Sebastien just shook his head and tried to start a conversation with Andromache, sticking to English for Nile’s sake. Andromache snorted at his questions, her eyes going dark as she talked about how the USSR had grabbed her from Romania back in the forties, right after the war ended. 

Going along peacefully had been the only way to keep her protection detail and handlers alive. The Russians had let her keep her main handler, but had replaced the rest of the staff. Andromache had known most of them for years. She was surrounded by strangers, caretakers and staff she couldn’t trust with her hopes or fears, too worried what they might share and who it would get hurt if they did. It had not helped her build a fondness for her new keepers.

Yusuf nodded. He had been relocated a few times himself. It was always hard when the new people who grabbed hold of them didn’t understand about the bonds the Immortals would build with their handlers. As if one member of staff could easily be replaced with another.

His face lit up and for a moment Nile worried about his cards, but then she noticed one of Yusuf’s handlers coming at them with a carrier holding a cat in it.

Yusuf whispered at the poor thing inside of it, who seemed to shrink away till it smelled its owner’s presence.

“So, who’s that scrawny thing?” Sebastien said. Fondness in his voice. 

“Tigger. I adopted her last night.”

The cat curled itself up on Yusuf’s lap. Nile had a moment where she wondered if the mortals around them were a kind of petas well. People you got used to, came to care about, mourned when they died, but not quite the same as your own kind. She wondered what their handlers would have thought of that distinction.


	4. Chapter 4

Nicolò loved listening to Yusuf, to the stories the man told. There was a melody in his voice as he recited poetry, some of his own making. Nicolò wished he had even half the talent Yusuf had.

Maybe that’s why God had saved them both, so that his people wouldn’t get too pissed off at the other’s side getting an Immortal. And he was just the baggage God had added on.

He could live with that if it meant Yusuf would walk the earth for as long as humanity existed.

Yusuf had looked beautiful in paintings, in images caught on camera, on television. But all of that was nothing compared to the man’s beauty in real life.

Nicolò wasn’t easily attracted to people. In fact, he could count the number of people he had loved romantically on the fingers of one hand. And in most cases he had never even acted on it. He had been a priest before his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and an Immortal after. 

Girls had thrown themselves at him, but he had just not been interested, hidden behind his faith. His duty in the church. And there men who had wanted to conquer him. For too many he was just a prize to be attained. A model for artists to test their skills. So few of them had ever seen him as a person.

And all of them had died.

Loneliness was a part of the price they paid, standing out amongst humanity. Nicolò wished he could carry it all as well as Yusuf did. But he knew he could not. 

Yusuf’s cat could be heard purring from its owner's lap. Nicolò had always been more of a dog person, but seeing the tabby cuddle up with Yusuf, he thought he might be changing his mind.

Yusuf had a way of lifting your heart, the smile on his face was as if the sun was allowed to shine. And Nicolò wished there was a way to ensure Yusuf would never have reason to lose it.

He had heard some of their handlers talking to one another. It seemed the explosion had been in Nile’s quarters. No one had been hurt, but only because whomever had set the bomb had gotten their hands on the wrong schedule for the meeting. If Nile and her handlers had been in her room when it went off, several people might have gotten hurt or even killed. 

The attempt had been claimed by some group called ‘The Righteous’, who claimed to be true patriots out to unmask the pretender’s false claim of immortality, or some such nonsense. As if any country would not have fully tested Nile before even considering revealing the news. As if the other Immortals wouldn’t have denied it if a country tried to claim having an Immortal on false pretenses.

But then, fanatics hardly cared about facts or evidence.

Nile didn’t know yet. The secret service agents were still unsure whether to tell her or not. The guy in charge was telling her bodyguard, but made damn sure the former marine didn’t tell her charge. 

Nicolò had only heard because the men hadn’t seen him. He wondered if he should tell the others so they could help him look after Nile and her friends, make sure they were safe. The girl’s heart would break if any of her mortal friends died because of someone trying to get to her. 

Andromache and he shared a glance, the ancient’s eyes pierced through him, as if reading his mind. He knew she couldn’t. At least, he didn’t think so. But somehow she knew what was going on regardless.

At least she was on his side to protect their youngest.

Yusuf, it seemed, was getting tired. Nicolò wanted to encourage him to go sleep, but the man was too worried about all of them to do so. There was only one thing to do. He feigned a yawn and let Yusuf take him to the cots waiting for them to sleep on. He asked the man to stay, and Yusuf was softly snoring. Ten minutes later. Nicolò sat back up, entranced by the view of Yusuf sleeping. The man looked even more beautiful as the weight of his years left him for that rare moment of rest.

  
  


*****

By the time Yusuf woke up and had said his prayers, the bunker was abuzz with activity. Nicolò was clearly already up. Tigger was demanding food, and Yusuf followed him to the makeshift kitchen. He stared as he noticed Nicolò behind the counter, cooking breakfast. The man’s keeper was clearly used to this, since he was trying to talk with the guards instead.

“I hope you like ciambellone or biscotte. If there’s anything you can’t eat, tell me, I’ll try and keep it in mind.”

“Long as it’s halal, I’m fine.”

“I’ll keep in mind.”

There was something about the man, the way he stood there over the stove. He had clearly been at it for a while, if the bounty of breads, croissants, and biscuits already waiting for them were a sign of what he had been up to.

“Cooking calms me down.” Nicolò said. “It helps to know I’ve succeeded at something.”

Yusuf knew that feeling. It was sometimes so hard to see any purpose in this life, when they weren’t allowed to do anything, take any risks, or help anyone in a way that let you feel like it really mattered.

It was the risk of being a role model, of having your every action, public or otherwise, scrutinized almost constantly. It’s why Yusuf focused so much on charities surrounding animals and children. No one tended to have a problem with those. And it made him feel like he was making at least some difference.

It was almost shocking how easy it was to talk to Nicolò. Not just how much they had in common, or how much they agreed on, but the pleasure in finding those things they disagreed on, and discussing them with him in a way that gave him a deeper understanding beyond what he already believed. Nicolò had a way of describing the mundane that made it sound almost like music. Yusuf didn’t think he could ever get bored of listening to the man talk about food, even just because of how much passion Nicolò put in all of it.

When the others started coming out for dinner, things settled down to an almost friendly camaraderie that you could only get while stuck in a bunker, being defended against who knows what.

“It’s hard for me to sleep.” Nicolò said. “It always has been. Hard not to be stuck in memories of darker times.”

Yusuf wished he could give the man a hug, but he knew that would be taking it a step too far.

By the time Andromache came out demanding food, most of the others had already eaten. It was noticeable how disheveled she looked, and not just her. Quynh, if possible, looked even worse. 

Yusuf hid a chuckle at how obviously the both of them had been sleeping in the same bedroom, probably in the same bed if he could make a guess. 

Lykon and Sebastien were discussing French poetry compared to some new Kenyan rapper Lykon was supporting. Lykon had always been a patron of the arts, supporting young artists, helping them get acclaim in the rest of the world. 

Meriam seemed a bit hesitant at how easily Yusuf and Nicolò had started to get along. She didn’t say anything, but she kept throwing them worried looks. Yusuf wasn’t sure he knew why. Or maybe he did. Neither of them said anything about it.

She knew better than to criticize him publicly. 

Someone turned on television. The attack on the hotel got top billing. Yusuf shivered when he heard the reporter mention that the attack had been centered against the new American Immortal. 

The girl seemed frozen. She wasn’t new to hate, she couldn’t be. But to know that someone risked hundreds of lives to get at her would horrify anyone with even the slightest hint of morals.

“This is insanity.” Lykon said. “As if we’d ever let an imposter stand.”

Yusuf agreed. But when he threw a glance at Nicolò, it was clear the man had already known. He didn’t seem nearly shocked enough based on the news.

“We must keep her safe.” Was all the man said. The depth of concern in his voice made something awaken in Yusuf, a feeling he had tried to push down for far too long. 

Meriam might not be wrong. Nicolò was a threat to his composure. It was just one he was more than willing to welcome for all eternity. He just doubted they would ever let him keep it.

  
  
  
  


******   
  


  
  


Nile remembered the day she died in clear detail. The women, the man waiting behind the curtain, the knife, and then the doctors and her friend’s fear for her. She also remembered the tests, the way the doctors had taken her blood, x-rays, the way the officials had made absolutely certain she was what they thought she was. 

She wanted to believe they were wrong, that she had just gotten lucky. And she guessed she had. If she hadn’t hit the one in billions of odds and had not been immortal, she would have died that day.

And yet even now there were people who couldn’t accept what she was, simply because she didn’t fit the image of ‘the American Immortal’ they imagined would have come forward for them.

What if her Mom had stayed in her rooms, instead of going out to talk to her lawyers, now that Nile’s childhood home was becoming a historical heritage site? What if Jay and Dizzy hadn’t been allowed into the meeting with her? What if a maid had been in her rooms when the bomb went off?

People, innocent people, could have gotten hurt.

All because of her.

“We must keep her safe.” Nicolò had said. Part of her wanted to tell him she didn’t need people to look after her. She was a marine. But he knew that. He had been in her head, had felt her die. And somehow he still cared. And from the way the others chimed in, so did they.

Yusuf helped get her a chair so she could sit down as Nicolò fed them all breakfast, while Andromache and Quynh argued with their protectors. They were demanding a public press conference to make it damn clear how this attack on one of them would be seen by all of them.

Nile felt as if she was looking at it all from a distance, like there was a haze between her and reality. Maybe it was that haze that made her imagine the lingering glances between Nicolò and Yusuf. The way the two men never lost sight of one another, or how the more time they spent together, the more in sync they got.

She felt sad for them, knowing that whatever happened after this, they would be separated again. She wasn’t sure what it was between them. Deep friendship, an understanding in how they came from the same time in history, or the potential for more. And a common knowledge that neither of their cultures would be too accepting of anything developing between them.


	5. Chapter 5

It took another two days before enough of the terrorist organization and its leaders had been taken down before they were finally allowed outside the bunker.

Two days of getting to know one another, of just getting to hang out and talk about things that nobody else in the world could possibly understand. Two days of their staff getting to know one another as well.

Two days of hearing things, things he had known, but had tried to ignore. Nicolò knew he wasn’t the most popular of the Immortals. Far from it. And the more time passed and culture took a closer look of the Crusades, the more people reacted in horror at what he had been a part of. Justifiably so. 

Nicolò thought he had made his feelings clearer. That the world knew he wasn’t… that he wasn’t like that anymore.

And yet the way people thought of him still stunned him as he heard Paolo, a junior member of his own staff, talking to a member of Sebastien’s entourage. Paolo was shocked that Nicolò had actually made something halal for the muslims among them. Nicolò hadn’t known what to say. He had believed that at least his own people knew him better than to think he was still… That any of them could still think he was that same hate-ridden man he had been once upon a time.

“I’m surprised he even knows what halal means, let alone that he cares about it.”

“I thought he was part of that anti-racism campaign last year?”

“You know PR guys, even the guys in charge of Nicolò know they had to clean up his reputation for modern times.”

Nicolò remembered how hard he had had to fight to be part of that campaign. How his handlers had worried that it might draw untoward attention to his past. Best to let the past stay the past.

But he had wanted to help. He had wanted to do something.

“The guy’s no better than a Nazi himself, just look at how he keeps staring at Yusuf, and Nile, thinking he’s better than them. He’s up to something. I just wish I knew what it was.”

Nicolò had stayed out of sight, trying to make sure the man didn’t see him. Let them go on with their conversation, and every word hit him to the core. Because once upon a time there had been truth in it. Yet he fought so hard to be better than the man he had been. To learn, to do better. 

Worst part is that Paolo wasn’t alone in that line of thinking. Too many people agreed with it, and Nicolò had no way of changing that. Anything he did, said… none of it would ever make a difference.

He was so caught up in thoughts that he ran into Yusuf. Shy and embarrassed, he pulled away. He instantly wondered if people would think he recoiled because he thought he was better than Yusuf. How could they, when he knew damn well that the exact opposite was true?

“Nico, are you alright?” 

Nicolò knew he had been rude. And he tried to apologize, but Yusuf wouldn’t let him. He tried not to show his hurt, but Yusuf somehow saw through it all. And after an hour of meddling and pushing him, Nicolo finally admitted what he overheard.

“You have to make them fire that idiot.”

“No.”

“Nico, if he’s really stupid enough to think that you, of all people, would be that kind of a monster after spending months in your presence, then well… what else is he missing?”

“But what if he’s right? What if I’m still…”

“The man you were then, he was a fanatic, yes, but he didn’t insist on getting back to the fighting once the truce started. And I know you could have.”

“Too many people had already died.”

“That’s it, though, isn’t it Nicolò? Even then human lives mattered to you. You did terrible things, but you never were a monster, and you spent centuries trying to be better than you were. You are kind, and gentle, you care so much. For everyone.”

Nicolò tried to look away from him, but Yusuf wouldn’t let him, pulled him in. For a moment, just a moment their faces were close, so close he might have thought— But then Yusuf pulled away, and Nicolò berated himself for even hoping for more.

“Thank you.”

He almost ran away after that, ready to get his things and to leave this safe place that had become their haven, where they had all been together. Where for once, for the first time in so long, he hadn’t been alone. 

Nicolò knew he would cling to these memories forever. Until the next time they would get to spend time together, he would long to be reuinited with all that he was. He was already mourning what they were about to lose.

  
  


*****   
  


Yusuf sat on his chair at the press conference. The table in front of him felt harsh and unforgiving. A shield between him and the press. 

He couldn’t help but think of the pain in Nicolò’s eyes. The way the man had taken cruel words to heart as if they were truth. Yusuf had tried to hint at Meriam to talk to Paolo’s superiors about what had been said.

“Well he was a Crusader.” She sneered, but stopped when she saw the look on his face.

“He’s not like that, Meriam. Not anymore. If he ever even was.”

“You’ve grown attached to him.” He wasn’t sure of the tone in her voice. The worry.

“It’s easy to grow attached to a man like him.”

“Oh Yusuf.” She sounded so sad. “You know it can’t be.”

And Yusuf knew. He had known just in time to keep him from kissing Nicolò right then and there, from pulling him closer. From holding him close and never letting him go. 

“I just wish…” she pulled him in a hug, comforting him, just like she had done as a child, when she accompanied her mother in her duties. Yusuf watched her grow up into a woman, a mother and grandmother.

And yet now, she treated him as if he was a young fool who would betray everything he was for the sake of a man who could be, should be, everything he could ever hold dear.

“I know we’ve only had two days, Meriam. But when I’m with him, it feels like he’s the moon freeing me from the darkness I’ve been lost in, he’s warmth when I shiver in cold. His heart overflows with kindness that this world is not worthy of. And he doesn’t even see it, he’s so shy, hiding from a world that does not understand him because it has made up its own mind based not on who he is, but on what they think he’s supposed to be.”

“The world might not understand.”

“I can do without the world. I’m not sure I can do without him. Nicolò’s not just a crush, or a passing want, Meriam. He’s all and he’s more. And yet I cannot have him.”

She stared after him as he went up to the press conference. He knew she had talked to the Italian delegates. That within an hour Paolo was fired and sent back to Italy by commercial flight. But was he even alone in his views, were there others who would make his Nico’s heart shatter with unkind words?

“I cannot believe that anyone would hesitate to think that Nile is one of us.” Andromache said. Her voice firm with the certainty of her age. “We all dreamt of her, we all felt her die, and we all welcomed her. She’s a brilliant young woman, who will excel at representing her people among us— as she has done for the past few days.”

Yusuf sat there ignoring the questions of the press. His eyes stayed on Nicolò. The table had been set up to keep them as far apart as possible.Yet Yusuf couldn’t help but try and drink his fill of the sight of the man, to enjoy his presence for as long as he could have it.

Suddenly there was a question for him. 

“What has it been like spending so much time with the others.” And he could hear the question underneath.  _ What was it like being in the same rooms with Nicolò despite your enmity? _

“I’m grateful for the time we were able to spend together.” He said back in English. “It feels as if this meeting gave us a chance to build connections and friendships beyond our common condition and situation.”

“So, no tension?” The man tried. 

“Well, Sebastien’s feet smell when he takes his shoes off.” Quynh muttered. 

“As if your breath in the morning is any better,” Sebastien ribbed back.

“But what about …”

“No one could be hostile towards Yusuf.” Nicolò said. “His heart is filled with forgiveness and love. No man would know him and wish harm upon him.

“Damn right.” Lykon added. 

A stream of questions kept getting thrown at them, but thankfully the others intercepted them.

Andromache ended it with a final word. “We’re not meant to be alone.” As she clapped her hand on Nile’s shoulder in a sign of support before leaving the stage.

Yusuf let himself be guided back to his rooms after that, ignoring the flashes of cameras, staring back at Nicolò one last time. Wishing for a different world

  
  


******   
  


Nile felt her heart hurt for the others, knowing they would all go back to their own homes. She might be new, but she could see how much it hurt Andromache, or Andy, as the woman insisted she call her, that she would be separated from Quynh once again. These two days had been more than the two of them had had in over three thousand years. And still there was longing in their eyes when they looked at one another from across the room.

And she wasn’t even starting on Yusuf and Nicolò. Yusuf made it look like the other man was the only person in the room whenever they saw one another. This connection between them was building, growing the more time they spent together.

She remembered when her own brother had come out to her and her Mom and how worried the kid had been about it. How much more worried would two men be who had dealt with that kind of fear for the past nine hundred years? Unable to even be in the same room for more than a few hours. 

She wished they could be in a world where the two of them could figure this out in private. That they could just talk, go on dates, and be two people who might— who just  _ might _ fall in love.

But this wasn’t that kind of world. Not unless they made it that way.

“I just want to help them, Jay. But what could I possibly do or say that would change the way things are?”

“You could tell the press.”

“And what? Out them? What kind of monster do you think I am?”

Jay raised her hands, quickly getting the message.

She remembered talking to the reporter of Teen Vogue about her time with the other Immortals. About how much she looked up to them. About Andy talking about horses, or how Yusuf’s cat had soon become a favorite for all of them. And about how good Nicolò’s cooking was. 

So many things, so many memories in just two days. It made her wish they could have more of this, more time with others who understood. 

Then she realized: they  _ could _ . Maybe not in public, but there was FaceTime. Andy and Quynh sure as hell knew what that was since they had been using it for years. She asked Jay to ask her fellow handlers to invite the others to a chat group and let them all use it as they wanted to. 

And it somehow worked. It lightened things up when they got to talk to one another, a bit hesitant at first, but more and more playful with every passing conversation. 

And if Nicolò and Yusuf disappeared in private conversation every once in a while, nobody outside of the group needed to know that.

It wasn’t her fault, the others all made that clear. But still, when someone managed to leak the chat records, she still felt responsible. She still blamed herself. 

Especially when whomever did it leaked the private messages between Yusuf and Nicolò and all hell broke loose.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

  
  


Nicolò guessed Paolo managed to get his revenge after all. Though most of his staff had had no problem with the man getting fired, he still had his friends among Nicolò’s handlers.

So when the transcripts of his conversations with Yusuf were released, the authorities didn’t need to look far.

_ Nicolò di Genova attempts to seduce the honorable Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Mohammed al-Kaysani into sin _ .

_ Hidden lust among Immortals. _

_ Did public tension hide a secret romance _ was the kindest headline among the lot.

Nicolò knew it was his fault. Even just the chance to talk to Yusuf had been too hard to say no to. Every poem Yusuf wrote him, every meme the man sent him. It made him feel seen for real. Him, Nicolò, not the Immortal, or the monument, but the person. It had made him feel alive, and he had been unable to break it off, even though for Yusuf’s sake, he should have.

Al Jazeera of course made it clear that due to Yusuf’s special situation, that he was allowed to commit sins that might damn others. That it was a sign of his holiness that he held onto his faith despite it.

Yusuf had snorted at that, the first time they facetimed after the news broke. 

Nicolò wished he could feel as light as Yusuf did.

Yusuf, though, he said he felt freed. That for the first time in nine centuries he felt unburdened of the lie, of pretending he was something he wasn’t.

He looked younger, lighter almost, and seemed happy when Nicolò told him so.

“I am. Do you know how many people have told me they feel better about themselves now that they know I am like them? I have received letter upon letter telling me how I helped make them feel seen.”

Nicolò could understand that. But unlike Yusuf, he had stopped reading his mail a long time ago.

There had been too much hate in it, too many people screaming at him, calling him names.

A reporter wanted to ask him about the transcripts. His handlers wanted him to refuse. 

But he figured, if even one kid, if even one child, could feel better, because he was living proof that people like them had existed all through history, wasn’t that worth it?

  
  


*****   
  


  
  


Yusuf was amazed at Nico’s courage; the way the man had come out publicly in a TV interview. It made him wish he could pull the other Immortal into a hug right after.

Oh, Nicolò had said nothing about him in his interview and had refused to answer questions about the chat transcript. But he talked about being a gay man in Genova in the eleventh century. How he had been told over and over about the price of sin, and the damnation of his soul. How going on pilgrimage had felt like seeking salvation, and hope to escape hell because of it.

He had talked about the relationships he had had over the years, most of which had been short lasting relationships that Nico had told him about in their private conversations. 

Yusuf couldn’t begin to say how proud he was. 

The press response had been split between those praising Nicolò for coming out and those who said he was just trying to take advantage of the zeitgeist to get away from criticism.

Yusuf wondered if they even realized how heavy the price could have been for Nico’s honesty. 

When he FaceTimed Nico afterwards, Nicolò was actually smiling. It made him look even more beautiful. 

Meriam watched it all, softly smiling at the two of them acting as teenagers with a crush.

Andromache was the one who dropped the next big news, pulling attention away from the two of them, when she declared publicly that she was going to marry her first and deepest love: Quynh. That it was long time she stopped letting society keep her from her truest love. She pretty much insisted on Russia to recognizing gay marriage if they did not want her to move to a country that would not refuse her heart’s desire.

And, insisting that of course all the other Immortals were invited to their nuptials in Vietnam.

Yusuf counted the days on the calendar until he and Nicolò could meet.

The moment where he saw the other man, when Nico stood in front of him, Yusuf couldn’t stop himself. He pulled the man into a hug and lifted him up into his arms. Nico didn’t fight him on it, and the two of them were closer than ever.

They didn’t kiss, not while they knew there were cameras around. But Yusuf wanted to do so more than anything. He could only pray that Nico wanted the same.

The two of them separated from the others after the wedding ceremony. Nico sat down next to him, Yusuf took his hand. Touch had been such a rare thing between the two of them. And he wished… he wished for so much more.

Nico shivered as Yusuf faced him, neither of them looking at the fireworks being set behind them. 

Nico’s kiss felt like heaven, and Yusuf knew for sure at that moment that it wouldn’t matter how long it would take. One day they would be together forever. 

He didn’t even notice the photographer catching their kiss.

  
  
  


*****   
  


  
  


Nile was bridesmaid at Yusuf and Nicolò’s wedding the next year.

She cried for joy for both of them.

  
  
  


The end


End file.
